It was impossible to go on – blundering over a precipice was a real possibility.
The train stopped and the yaks quickly came together in a huddle. Forcing their way inside, the humans took refuge from the icy wind in the steamy mass as snow steadily built on the hairy backs. Nicander caught a glimpse of Ying Mei’s pinched but expressionless face; holding on, enduring.
The snow continued remorselessly.
It was so unfair – only another couple of miles and…
Nicander tried to ask Yulduz their chances but in reply only got an ill-tempered gabbling and the man turned away.
With the pass so close would he wait for the weather to clear and make a desperate attempt to transit, or return to the village and wait for spring?
The fearful cold made it difficult to think. The yaks could probably wade through a couple of feet of snow but who could tell if conditions the other side of the pass were better or worse? They couldn’t stay where they were indefinitely. The longer they delayed returning, the deeper the snow behind them, and he remembered more than one patch that…
Had they left it too late either way?
Nicander felt a swelling dread.
Time passed and he slipped into a reverie of images and impressions.
He was abruptly brought back to the present by hurried movement out of the huddle – the snow had stopped!
Yulduz stared at the grey sky. Then he bent and picked up some snow and let it fall to the ground, watching it closely. His gaze returned to the line of the summit.
‘We go!’ he snapped.
There was a fevered scurry of activity. This time there would be no riding; each would walk beside his yak.
They set out for the distant top of the pass, stomping the soft snow with every pace and knowing the stakes if they failed.
The sun came and went. Everyone periodically glanced warily at the sky, dreading what they would see.
Yulduz was ahead, testing the way and calling out shrill commands to the lead yak.
The crest drew nearer and, praise be, they were atop it – a slope led gently away on the other side into the same grand panorama of great mountains and far valleys. Yulduz took a wide, sweeping zigzag down, going as fast as he could get the yaks to follow.
Nicander, like the others, was numbed and exhausted and it wasn’t until they stopped at a sheltered crag that he realised they were safe.
Yulduz, now in fine spirits, handed out a ration of chhurpi, a bar of dry yak cheese that took hours to chew.
‘Not so bad, now. I don’t think they come after you here, M’ Lady!’ he added with a cackle.
Nicander found himself smiling. They were through the mountain barrier and were on the road to the west!
Yulduz gave the order to remount, their way now was a continual downward winding track along the wide flank of a mountain to where green peeped through the snow on the uplands.
In two days they left the snowline and reached the lower foothills whose terrain made for fast going. Later, wide river plains led through increasingly fertile regions with nomad tents and flocks dotted on the slopes.
They stopped at tiny settlements for fresh provisions and news and to exchange their trinkets for furs and handworked trifles and then passed on to a majestic river valley.
‘To Osh,’ Yulduz said proudly. ‘He goes to my town!’
They followed him up a steep track littered with sharp stones. It wound around then through a cleft – and they caught their breath. Below was an immense plain ending in a blue-grey haze at the horizon. They could see every detail, the glittering meander of a river, the dots of trees, the smudge of forests and the far-distant sprawl of a city.
The travellers beamed at each other. The landscape was alive and green, even roads could be picked out. They had left Chang An for a desert of sand, then from Kashgar endured a desert of snow and rock. Now they had won through to what could only be – the Western Lands.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Directly before them was Osh.
Ying Mei did not speak but her eyes darted everywhere: this was the crowning moment of her journey.
Nicander glanced at her. Against all the odds they had made it through, over the endless miles. And now she was in the Western Lands he had fulfilled his bargain.
The ground levelled in the last mile or two and the caravan joined a treelined road. As the travellers drew closer however, they could see that the houses were mean and seedy; the streets and lanes unplanned and dirty, full of ragged children and herds of pigs. Noisy, uncaring and stinking.
By the time they had come to a halt in the big caravanserai it was clear that this was a trading outpost, a town perched on the frontier.
Seeing Ying Mei’s set face Yulduz said defensively, ‘Osh is a fine place, M’ Lady, but I’m thinking, not so good for a princess.’
She gave a confused look to Nicander.
He had only a hazy idea of the geography. ‘Where is Constantinople from here?’ he asked Yulduz.
The man just shrugged.
‘The Mediterranean – the great sea?’
‘I am a man of the mountains, I know not much of what is across the plains. But there is a great city many times the size of Osh. This is the home of the Sogdian people. It is called Samarkand and is only a week or two away. There you will find every kind of comfort and civilisation that would suit you, M’ Lady.’
‘How will I…?’
‘My brother, he runs caravan there. I will see him directly, you wait.’
After he had gone Ying Mei forced a smile. ‘Ah Yung, we are in the Western Lands, you have completed your mission.’
She paused. ‘But can I ask… will you go with us to Samarkand?’
What else could he do? In all conscience he could not leave Ying Mei and Tai Yi in this town alone. In Samarkand she could settle down in some comfort, yet still keep her ear to the ground for news that it was safe to return to China.
At the same time hanging over him was his own quandary – how to get to Constantinople from here. What more likely place than the capital of the Sogdians to find out?
That night Nicander found sleep impossible.
He now knew it was more probable than not that he and Marius would eventually succeed in getting through to Constantinople. It was no longer a fearful adventure with no end.
But it was only a very short time before the moment when he would never see Ying Mei ever again.
He had accepted that their friendship, warm as it was, could go no further. She was a noble lady and would see out her exile in Samarkand. He and Marius would continue on to Constantinople.
Yet she had entered his heart and mind in a way that no other woman had. A disgraceful thing to admit for a holy man, he reflected ironically. The holy man conceit, of course, was as much a defence against what could not be, as to allow her the trust to be close and he had to see it through. In any case, it would be a shameful thing if he had to admit that he’d deceived her all this time.
No, it had to be faced, there would be a parting soon and it would be final.
It were better for both, therefore, that from now on he keep away, withdraw from her company. Be polite – but distant. The only way to get through it.
Yulduz came back with good news. ‘He can take you. Like I said! If you quick.’
The caravan was already on its way and they had to chase it on horseback, rendezvousing in the early afternoon with a colourful line of laden camels, packhorses, all the familiar jingle and panoply.
The caravan master, looking nearly identical to his brother, accepted their fee and it was arranged that their baggage would catch up with them at their first staging.
Ying Mei’s face was flushed with anticipation. ‘Will they speak Greek in Samarkand, Ah Yung?’
‘If it’s as civilised as they say.’ He rode on without taking his eyes from the road.
‘I’m so relieved! A new land with all these things to see, to learn about – aren’t you excited, Ah Yung?’